Graffiti

July 26 2020

The long freight train rumbles past,

steel-on-steel

squealing around the curve.

All the boxcars and tankers

are bright with graffiti

and gaudily spray-painted tags,

anonymous artists

all over the continent

compelled to leave their mark.

The compulsion of art,

however impermanent

however nomadic.

Stopped

at the level crossing

I sit at the wheel and watch.

Not a vandalized train

but a beautiful canvas

scrolling past my eyes.

There are currently (July of 2020) Black Lives Matter protests erupting in Portland Oregon. Which is notable in itself, since Oregon is so overwhelmingly white. Most have been peaceful. Some activists have sparred with police, lit fires, broken windows,and spray painted a Federal courthouse with graffiti. Minor damage. Hardly a riot. In politically motivated authoritarian theatre, the Trump administration has marshalled troops from various Federal enforcement agencies (such as Homeland Security, Border Patrol, the Marshal's Office, TSA) – under the pretext of protecting Federal property, and arguing that local authorities are not doing the job – dressed them in unmarked paramilitary outfits, armed them heavily, and set them against the protesters. This has only escalated a peaceful demonstration into violence. Meanwhile, this unauthorized Federal police force is arbitrarily and illegally detaining protesters.

So some see the graffiti as expressions of freedom, individualism, creativity, and beauty. Others see it as a dangerous sign of disorder, lawlessness, and the rule of the mob. A threat to security and stability. Even terrorism! I think this binary really reflects the basic mindset of two worldviews, which in turn is a reflection of the human temperament, as much biological as it is learned: either liberal, tolerant, curious, and open to new experience; or conservative, rigid, and inclined to conformity and order. (Perhaps a binary. On the other hand, and even though I strongly self-identify as liberal and progressive, I find some of both in me. So perhaps better to say a continuum.)

The first thing that comes to mind when I hear the word “graffiti” are those gaudily painted freight trains. They strike me as movable art: colourful, often beautiful, original, and mysterious. Who paints them? Why? Do freight cars stay still that long? Are they reviled by the railways, tolerated, or even secretly celebrated?

Clearly, art is a human compulsion, and anything can become a medium. It seems we can't help ourselves!